


Necessary Roughness.

by LoudandDangerous



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Cock Slut, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Dry Humping, Gangbang, Hella brief Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow, Humiliation kink, Hydra (Marvel), Illegal Activities, M/M, More tags as I go, Pretty angsty if you ask me, Prostitution, SHIELD, Sexual Abuse, Steve in lingerie, Strip Tease, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudandDangerous/pseuds/LoudandDangerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the nicest profession. It's not the cleanest profession. But it makes money. </p>
<p>Steve can't complain. </p>
<p>But Bucky does. Bucky will complain as much as he wants to, whether anybody's listening, and he vows to rescue Steve from the world of prostitution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Such a nice whore for me, aren't you? Pure fuckin' filth, you are. Just the perfect little whore boy for me to fuck and tease…?" No objections, Steve nods as his breathing hitches. Fifth man this week who's name he can't remember, seventh man this week who he's fucked. Thrusts fast, rough kisses across his jawline and it's only the beginning. _"So good. So good."_ He whines, Steve melts to putty in his grip. He arches his back on the bed, fingers intertwine and yank on his golden locks. Bottoming out, pushing as deep as he can while Steve lets out the most badass sounds he's capable of. The room is mainly silent, save for the rough moans escaping willingly from the brunet's mouth. 

 

 

Brown hair, strands of grey through the the hairline. Reminds Steve of Christian Grey, though he only goes by what the media says. He has enough self-respect to not read _50 Shades of Grey._ The brownest eyes Steve's ever seen. It's all so perfect. Bed shaking, moaning intensifying; the brunet's fingers digging into Steve's frail back and groaning so loud Steve's afraid they'll wake the neighbors. He second guesses caring though, _he doesn't even live there._ Backs arching, breathing hitching; Steve would've had an asthma attack by now, the way they're going. Such a good thing it's gotten more… _manageable_ throughout puberty and beyond. Thrusts getting sloppier, neck bruised with hickeys, other clients may question. It's not their jurisdiction to judge since they're on the other end of the deal. A stroke on his shaft is all it takes to get Steve coming all over this stranger's bedsheets. ~~Stranger?~~   _Client_. 

 

The man pumps shallowly, spilling himself into the blond and collapsing on top of him. Kissing Steve's cheek, smiling against his neck, thrusting one more time and groaning at the brief overstimulation. They lay for a while, Steve finds it odd that he wants to sleep all of a sudden.

 

"--how-- how much?"

 

Steve closes his eyes, resting on the pillows. The satin makes his feel so beautifully warm. Loved even. Love is a funny joke.

 

"You had some fun there, didn't you, kid?" The man nods, brown and grey locks rubbing fluffy on Steve's flushed chest. "--make it 150."

 

He rolls over, groaning when he gets up and rummages through his wallet. Handing Steve the 150 and a 20 for a tip. Steve counts through it, pursing his lips and running a hand through his hair. Toes lightly dipping onto the carpet when he gets up, pulling together his things and taking a deep breath. A much needed one, to be primarily honest. He sits at the foot of the bed, thumb rubbing over the bite mark on his shoulder from somebody who's name he  _actually does_ remember. Dean. He thinks it's short for Demetrius or something of the sort. 

 

_Damn,_ Dean can bite. 

 

Steve inhales sharply, wincing and reminding himself to ease the bruise with peroxide and a cloth. He rolls his eyes, taking a deep breath and standing to his feet.

 

"Wait….? Aren't you going to stay? At--at least until the morning?" He looks hopeful, Steve simply doesn't have the time. Steve shrugs, giving him a seemingly hopeless look. Shaking his head to Brock's disapproval.

 

 

"I'd love to, but I have to work. Of course…" He stops, hesitant, but seduction is what he does best. Lowering his voice and grinning like the devil fucked him dirty. "…you could always come by again, see me….fuck me…. _play with me._ I could blow your mind, or I could simply blow you instead. For good time, call me." He shrugs, leaving a business card, strolling off and closing the door behind him. He opens it just a bit, blowing a kiss teasingly and winking as the brunet stays in awe, jaw dropped and Steve snickers when he hears him stammering.

 

"What if I paid extra?" Steve stops, narrowing his eyes and turning around, leaning on the door frame. Crossing his arms, waiting as he raises his eyebrow curiously.

 

"How much?"

 

"300." He's hesitant, but he stutters out the number anyway. Steve tilts his head, thinking before grinning. And that's how Steve ended up spending the night with satin sheets and crazy hot sex. Messy blond hair resting his the chest of the brunet. Talking about anything that comes to mind. Cats, Steve's stage name for stripping, coffee preference. His name is Brock, Steve learns. Listening to him lament about his roommate with 'the best eyes he's ever seen and the longest eyelashes'. Complete with brown hair and a 5'clock shadow that makes him weak in the knees. His name is Bucky and Brock would give anything to hump him dry. He prefers to fuck people that look like Bucky, but tonight, Steve looked a little better. Though, not boyfriend material. Steve cannot decipher whether it's because he's a prostitute or because he's not Bucky.

 

The night is simple, the curtains parted so Steve can see the apartments opposite of the building. Steve doesn't sleep, he listens to Brock's light snoring and watches the building outside of the window. A wave highlighting across the skyline, skyscrapers towering and rain barring against the window. 6am counts as morning, right? Steve supposes so, he unravels from Brock's grip around him and slips on his shoes. Teetering on his toes, thinking about whether he should return home or back to work. He's obligated to choose any, he takes the former. Stepping out of Brock's bedroom, dark living room and curtains streaming dismal grey light from the rain. Bleak sky, dismally pouring. Opening the front door, thinking about how to lock it from the outside considering he can't just leave the door unlocked. 

 

"….fuck it." He waves his hand, rolling his eyes and not bothering to bother with the door anymore. Stepping onto the platform outside the apartment door, raining hitting his face and he screws his eyes shut to anticipate it getting worse. Smoke looms around, a brunet leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into a grey hoodie. Steve tilts his head to observe. The brunet doesn't notice. Brown locks sticking out the grey hood, cigarette between his teeth, expression as dismal as the sky above them and headphone tucked tight in his ears. 

 

He seems to have long eyelashes, brown eyes you could swim in (and they say _blue_ eyes are prettiest?), 5'clock shadow evident. Steve narrows his eyes. It clicks to him that this must be Bucky. Stone cold fox brunet who looks like he either wants to kill himself or everybody around him.  _Cynical._ The vibe throws Steve off, he leans against the wall. Part of him wants to know why he doesn't leave, smoke and asthma has never mixed well and probably never will. There's a brief side glance, Bucky noticing the blond with the faithful sea gaze. "…Brick's got a boyfriend now, how neat." He rolls his eyes, dragging out the smoke and blowing it into Steve's face. 

 

He holds his breath.  _Rude,_ for one thing.

 

He waves the smoke out his face, his chest is briefly on fire. He steps back. "…I'm not _'Brick's'_ boyfriend. He paid me to use these parts." He playfully thrusts into the air, Bucky is mildy disgusted. It takes him a moment, cogs of his mind clicking and whirring until he finally gets it. 

 

"So…you're a prostitute?" 

 

"Hmm…." He taps his index finger on his chin, pretending to think carefully. "The cat's out of the bag." He shrugs, snickering apathetically. Bucky breathes in the smoke, burning out the cigarette and pulling down his hood, messy brown hair exposed in the rainy weather.

 

"I don't like what you're doing." He furrows an eyebrow, pursing his lips curiously. 

 

"There's a reason you said  _'I'_ in that sentence. You, as in ' _yourself'._ Your opinion is not my concern. It's what I do. I'm not made for you to judge. I've got a pretty face, 30 guys every month agree. Everybody wins, Bucky." 

 

"…and you know my name?"

 

"Brock spills it all. Whether it's TMI or ITB." He shrugs. He strolls in a circle around Bucky, like magic sparkling and swirling around Bucky. Pixie dust, sort of. THe asthmatic prostitute and the cynical roomie. "I get paid, they get laid, Barnes." He uses emphasis on Bucky's last name.

 

Bucky isn't sure how he feels about this. It sounds seductive. 

 

"The slipper fits. I say wear it." He strides off, Bucky narrows his eyes. 

 

Why does Bucky want more of Steve? How strange. 

* * *

Finding Steve's line of work isn't hard, but yet,  _it is._ Hard because A) It's illegal and B)  _it's illegal._

 

Highlighting across the skyline, skyscrapers towering and rain barring down. Hood tucked over brown locks, hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall while searching through his phone. Of course he could always call Brock and ask, but that makes him seem low. Dirty. His eyes sift through the hop polloi of New Yorkers,the occasional blond passes by, Bucky reaches out but the voice doesn't match. There's no hint of seduction and teasing. No seduction to match his own cynicism. 

 

Some are fairly tall, others are about Bucky's height. It smells like smoke, wet rain and cold temperature. Pollution, he can't turn his head without seeing a McDonald's or a Starbucks. This isn't the place to find Steve. 

 

Normally the loud cars and bustling swarm would make him have an anxiety attack but he knows what he's looking for. Darkness overcasts as Bucky looks on, thunderstorms rolling through and he decides it's better to head home. He inhales the petrichor, feet first standing on sidewalk pavement and pushing through the amounts of tourists looking for the Barclays Center or Chinatown. Headphones blasting out anything he feels like. Twenty One Pilots, Taylor Swift, Alessia Cara, Fall Out Boy. He runs his mind over the torrent sentence of what he's doing right now.

 

_Cynical 22 year old looking for blond male prostitute._

 

He stops at the front door of the apartment, rain pouring and darkening his hair. He takes out one headphone when he opens the door, Brock in the kitchen rummaging through drawers for a whisk. He blows a damp strand from his face, peeking into Brock's room for any evidence of Steve. Anything at all. 

 

And to his luck, he finds the business card. 

 

_Steve's business card._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It's--It's a lot brighter than Bucky anticipates. He believes that most strip clubs are dim. Adds to the effect of sex in the dark, neon lights and beautiful faces waiting to tease. Men sitting in seats and enjoying the dances when Bucky can tell they've got wives and kids at home. Even the dancers don't belong here but Bucky knows everybody has reasons. They all have reasons for what they do and Bucky knows it's not his place to step on their boundaries.

 

So he scopes through the crowd with his cynical looking glass and finds exactly what he's looking for. A lapis gaze, watching intently to the doe eyed onlookers. Golden blond locks that shimmer in red and blue blinding neon light. A smirk on his dolled up face—and Bucky hates to admit it turns him on. He'd love to see what's so special about Steve. What's so special about blond hair….blue eyes? Bucky just doesn't get it. There's a grin on Steve's face when he sensually pulls a lollipop from his lips, licking it to the appraisal of the man who's lap he's sitting on. "Like what you see?" He whispers to the man's neck, Bucky takes a seat. Something about watching from afar makes him feel better about himself.

 

_Something as if observing Steve is like knowing you're on a diet and finding solace by watching someone else eat the cake._

 

It's all they teach you in 8th grade.  _'You're going to notice some changes. BIG CHANGES! And it's perfectly normal, James.'_ But this isn't what he thinks it is. He should know, he's practically had a 5 o'clock shadow since 7th grade; this isn't puberty. As far as Bucky knows, he's  _completely straight._ Straight as the arrow of his best friend's bow. 

 

But what is it about  _Steve?_ Why does he want to bang Steve until he cries from overstimulation? 

 

Steve's hair is glimmering, rosy lips and dolled up cheeks that make Bucky sweat. Cherry flavoring from the lollipop on his lips;  _Bucky wants a taste_. There's a soft tug at Steve's shirt, a slight teasing giggle when he whispers something to the man's ear and lingers his mouth a little too close to him. For the health and sanity of James Buchanan Barnes, he should probably stop, he won't, but Bucky's silent prayer is hoping he will. Bucky stops staring when Steve gets up and tugs the man's tie, leading the doe eyed stranger. Against a wall, pressed and sloppily making out. Bodies grinding against each other with lust, Bucky cringes. Not out of disgust;  _jealousy._ And what was  _that_ all about? He taps his finger on the table, thrumming to keep himself busy; away from Steve and his ~~one night stand~~   _client. _ They'll only ever be clients to Bucky's eyes. 

 

There's not too much to look at, a few men in leather, chains adorn the left hand side of the club and it dons on Bucky that,  _oh,_ they have bondage here as well. That might be interesting in the future, but getting lost in this different world isn't his reason for being there. He's trying to help Steve. Why, he doesn't know.  _Keep your focus, Barnes._ In his peripheral vision he sees the board, few prices, workers often set their own. A special; two for one offer. This isn't the time, Barnes. 

 

Steve pulls back, panting hot and heavy. His client almost comes in his pants right there.  _"Take me upstairs_ _…."_ Steve taints into his ear. Bucky's getting riled up just watching, imagining being on the other side of it. Pressed under Steve's touch, nimble fingers running over soft skin and lips like a pillow. Cherry red with lust and a fire as bright as those eyes. Steve licks the lollipop, stroking his tongue over the candy with winking.  _Damn he does it well._ He gazes over, cheeks bright pink when he notices Bucky watching explicitly. He playfully mouthes a kiss, blowing it to Bucky and arching his neck when his client leaves love bites all over it. 

 

Who knew jealously came in all sorts of forms. Bucky's sweating, whether it's too much leather and burning lights or Steve's act, he doesn't care to know. Bucky swears Steve is mumbling his name; he could be right.  _Why don't you come along, Barnes? There's enough of me to share_ _…._ Bucky closes his eyes, cell phone disruption bringing subtle ease. He glances Steve once more, the blond moaning and arching when his fingers tug at his shirt and slip under. He lights a match, blazing the cigarette and letting it lazily dangle from his loose bite. He answers the call, puff of smoke looming around. "Yes…?"

 

"Pierce's meeting's 'bout to begin; where the fuck are you?" 

 

"Trackin' down a prostitute." He deadpans, taking another lazy drag of the cigarette. " 'the hell does Pierce want now?"

 

"Don't know, he's berated half the staff though. Nat almost quit, he started calling Clint 'Cunt' and he's shown nothin' but appraisal for Rumlow."

 

"As always.…nothin' new." Bucky scoffs, coughing with the smoke invading his lungs. Burning out the cigarette, rain darkening his already dark hair. "Stay sane, Wilson." He warns, looking back to the cigarette, brief regret coursing through him. "Should'a kept it longer." He pouts, looking back out and contemplating his next decision. Steve's taunting smirk is missing when Bucky sits back in his seat, Steve is waiting at Bucky's table. "Aren't you supposed to be with your boy toy?" He nods over to the corner where Steve almost orgasmed moments earlier. 

 

"Tongue was laced with poison…couldn't do it. Cherry doesn't mix with smoke." He licks the lollipop, rubbing the candy across his lips. 

 

"..but I smoke too." 

 

"'Course you do; the difference is that you and I aren't fucking." He's blunt about it, looking off to the side moodily. "Gotta do what I need to to stay alive…you know?"

 

"Stay alive…?"

 

"Asthma..heart palpitations….I mean, I weigh 110 so…." He shrugs, smirking as Bucky tilts his head. "Essentially, I've got the immune system of a Hamster." He laughs under his breath, smooth as a macaroon. THe soft bring from his pocket, accompanied by vibration. 

 

"Fuck…I--I--I've gotta go." He almost trips over the chair, staggering as Steve raises a curious eyebrow. Bucky checks his pocket again, Steve's bent business card still inside the leather. He stumbles out the door frantically, Steve narrows an eyebrow.

 

"So what about this prostitute?" Sam gossips over the phone, sitting bored on the other end as Pierce and his associates exchange political banter. "Chick? Is she hot?"

 

"He's pretty hot, actually…" Bucky's cheeks go red, he staves off talking again. 

 

"…playing for the other team or experimenting?" Sam gawks, Bucky begins replaying Steve's movements. His  _moan,_ that blown kiss, the laugh. Bucky wants to bask in it, but watch it  _burn._

 

 _"I--Sam I'll get there when I can. I need to sort something out."_ Bucky takes a deep breath, sirens sound throughout the city. Cars blare, radios bring, sirens shout, lights blur. Can't stop New York… "I'm straight. I'm straight. _I'm straight._ " Bucky kneels down, looking to the dirty pavement and his reflection in the puddle. Moonlight glinting beyond him. "It's convincing…."

 

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?" Steve teeters on his heel, standing above Bucky with a curious smirk on his face.  _Damn, Bucky wants to ravish him._ "Quit it, Barnes. That look on your face alone is gonna give me a hard-on." Steve strolls around Bucky's kneeled frame, bending down with a lollipop stick in his mouth. A curious lapis gaze, a smirk like the devil's advocate and a laugh as smooth as a macaroon. 

 

"Why are you like this?"

 

"Like what, sweetheart?" Bucky could come up with a million and one pick up lines right now. But he promises the raunchy side of his mind that's how tonight is going to end. Not with him…and Steve, in bed. Screaming, panting, crying out the other's name until they--

 

_no._

 

"Don't call me 'sweetheart'. Why do you do all of this? This whole--"

 

"Sometimes you need to do what gets you by. I don't judge your decisions, if I did, I'd tell you that your jacket is tacky, you should shave, drop the 'lone wolf' act. Brush your damn hair, don't smoke, it kills….shall I go on? I mean, you waste all this time trying to get to me, but in all honesty, your blood pressure deserves better."

 

He sits up, Steve still with the smirk; Bucky's not sure if he wants to slap off his face, or get stained with it's lipstick. _At least he thinks it's lipstick_. "You're just everybody's play date. The Ken doll that everybody wants, and for the right price at Toys R Us,  _everybody gets._ " He rolls his eyes, stepping away from Steve and catching his thoughts. "Sex isn't isn't just a quick fuck and go, it--it's the whole entire  _feeling._ You know? Somebody you  _love_ and you don't grasp that concept. I'm trying to  _help_ you."

 

"There's no such thing as love, Barnes. I mean, why do teenagers fuck each other only to break up the next week? Why does divorce exist? Your entire concept of reason is lost! Don't tell me how to live my life when you can't even manage yours." He spits, Bucky might blow a fuse. "You can't 'help' me if I don't want to be helped. Certain things shouldn't be messed with. I am one of them. You can't dictate me." Crossed arms, red pout as Bucky grimaces. "Look, we're fighting like a married couple when we've only known for a day.  _Oh what fun!"_ He sarcastically announce, partial bemusement.

 

Bucky storms off to the secluded part west of the building, ideas ramped about Steve's teasing with those blue eyes and golden hair that makes him uneasy. It takes him a few minutes to realize he is no longer in the vicinity of the building at all but rather outside in the pouring rain. He staggers on the pavement, darkness encasing around him with a burning desire to punch the closet thing he sees. He's lashing out within himself. Fuck Steve! and yet again, _Fuck Steve_. Fuck Steve with his stupid blue eyes and teasing smirks, and his laughter and hair that's so golden it's as if Midas had touched it himself.

 

Bucky just doesn't understand it. 

 

Until he turns around to face the wall. Graffiti layered atop graffiti, bubble letters and sharp edged curse words. A spider, a hammer and a fist as some sort of statement. There's fresh paint, dripping down in the rain as a 'T' is shown underneath the dripping paint. He steps back when more paint drips and drains down the stream to the drainage system. It's like watching an Etch-a-Sketch reveal itself.

 

Bucky reads the words, raining pattering hard above him until he understands it. And then he understand what he needs to do.

 

_"Don't take the kid from the fight; Take the fight from the kid."_

 

Somehow, Bucky has to do it. He second-guesses, rising from the cigarette ashes and rain puddles, staggering back to the building. He doesn't know where Steve has pranced off to, some watch the stage, Bucky glances to it puzzled. 

 

"Oh look guys, Captain's gonna put on another show…" Few whispers gossip, Bucky doesn't understand until he realizes.

_"Captain…?"_

**Author's Note:**

> Woah baby! It's been a long time since I wrote a Stucky fanfic. I wonder why that is. 
> 
> First things:
> 
> 1) WIP.  
> 2) Comments and kudos are hella appreciated!  
> 3) More tags are to be added as I go.
> 
> That's about it, I guess. Here we go.


End file.
